"but I could wish to know, sir, if not intruding,
how I have merited this liberality?"

"Know then, my Christopher," he says, "that
from boyhood's hour, I have unremittingly and
unavailingly endeavoured to get into print.
Know, Christopher, that all the Booksellers
alive—and several dead—have refused to put
me into print. Know, Christopher, that I have
written imprinted Reams. But they shall be
read to you, my friend and brother. You
sometimes have a holiday?"

Seeing the great danger I was in, I had the
presence of mind to answer, "Never!" To
make it more final, I added, "Never! Not
from the cradle to the grave."

"Well," says he, thinking no more about
that, and chuckling at his proofs again. "But
I am in print! The first flight of ambition
emanating from my father's lowly cot, is realised
at length! The golden bowl"—he was getting
on—"struck by the magic hand, has emitted a
complete and perfect sound! When did this
happen, my Christopher:"

"Which happen, sir?"

"This," he held it out at arm's length to
admire it, "this Per-rint."

When I had given him my detailed account of
it, he grasped me by the hand again, and said:

"Dear Christopher, it should be gratifying to
you to know that you are an instrument in the
hands of Destiny. Because you are."

A passing Something of a melancholy cast put
it into my head to shake it, and to say: "Perhaps
we all are."

"I don't mean that," he answered; "I don't
take that wide range; I confine myself to the
special case. Observe me well, my Christopher!
Hopeless of getting rid, through any effort of
my own, of any of the manuscripts among my
Luggage—all of which, send them where I
would, were always coming back to me—it is
now some seven years since I left that Luggage
here, on the desperate chance, either that the too
too faithful manuscripts would come back to me
no more, or that some one less accursed than I
might give them to the world. You follow me,
my Christopher?"

"Pretty well, sir." I followed him so far
as to judge that he had a weak head, and
that the Orange the Boiling and Old Brown
combined was beginning to tell. (The old
Brown being heady, is best adapted to seasoned
cases.)

"Years elapsed, and those compositions
slumbered in dust. At length, Destiny, choosing
her agent from all mankind, sent You here,
Christopher, and lo! the Casket was burst
asunder, and the Giant was free!"

He made hay of his hair after he said this,
and he stood a tiptoe.

"But," he reminded himself in a state of
great excitement, "we must sit up all night, my
Christopher. I must correct these Proofs for
the press. Fill all the inkstands and bring
me several new pens."

He smeared himself and he smeared the
Proofs, the night through, to that degree, that
when Sol give him warning to depart (in a four-
wheeler), few could have said which was them,
and which was him, and which was blots. His
last instructions was, that I should instantly
run and take his corrections to the office of the
present Journal. I did so. They most likely
will not appear in print, for I noticed a message
being brought round from Beaufort Printing
House while I was a throwing this concluding
statement on paper, that the ole resources of
that establishment was unable to make out
what they meant. Upon which a certain gentleman
in company, as I will not more particularly
name—but of whom it will be sufficient to
remark, standing on the broad basis of a wave-
girt isle, that whether we regard him in the
light of——* laughed, and put the corrections
in the fire.

* The remainder of this complimentary
parenthesis editorially struck out.

THE END OF THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER FOR 1862.

After the completion, early in January, of Mr. WILKIE COLLINS'S Serial Story, NO NAME,
A NEW TALE will appear in ALL THE YEAR ROUND,
To be continued from week to week, and completed within TWO MONTHS, entitled
A DARK NIGHT'S WORK,
BY THE AUTHORESS OF "MARY BARTON."
Which will be immediately followed by a
NEW SERIAL STORY BY CHARLES READE, D.C.L.,
AUTHOR OF "IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND."
To be continued from week to week, and completed in about EIGHT MONTHS.